


Kid Genius

by Satirrian



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Avengers Family, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, Howard Stark is a dickhead, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark Friendship, James "Rhodey" Rhodes is a Good Bro, Kid Tony Stark, Magic makes tony a 14yo, Post-Avengers (2012), Sass, Stark Tower, Stark Tower family, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony-centric, do i need to tag sass?, set after the avengers and iron man 3 but before winter solider
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-06-06 13:11:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15195476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Satirrian/pseuds/Satirrian
Summary: The superhero occupants of Stark Tower are faced with yet another "situation." This time, it's not Barton's fault.





	1. Just a Regular Day in the Workshop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story takes place in what I call the "Sweet Spot," where JARVIS is alive, the Avengers are one big happy family living in NYC, and everyone is alive, because that's self-care.

Tony’s entire head and torso was squashed into the broken-up quarter chassis of an upright cylindrical positron accelerator when JARVIS lowered the volume of the Beastie Boys’ “Sabotage.” 

“Sir, a suspicious package has spontaneously materialized on the left anterior workshop desk. Currently scanning for threats.”

Tony twisted inside the cylinder and felt his shoulder get scratched on the main injector. He tried to lower his arms from where he was attaching the ion source (gold plating) but then realized that was never gonna happen, so he stayed where he was. 

“Contents contain six smaller packages, cubular, six centimeters per side, temperature nineteen degrees celsius, reflecting various electromagnetic spectrums in the visible range only. Packages are emitting kinetic energy from an unidentified source.”

“How much energy we talkin’, J?” Tony’s voice echoed back at him. 

“An average of three point nine seven gigajoules.” 

“Jesus!” Tony flinched so hard that he slammed the back of his head against something sharp, pointy, and probably important. At the same time, he dropped the gold plate and felt it land on top of his head. The plate wasn’t exactly room temperature, you could say, and Tony thought he could smell burning hair. 

“Nope, nope, nope, that’s it— I’m done, I’m out,” he said, shimmying his body down as fast as he could. As soon as his head cleared the bottom of the cylinder, he whacked the molten piece of metal off his head with his gloves. It landed with a sizzle on the tiled floor. 

DUM-E was already rolling over, brandishing his fire extinguisher, and paused, for a just a moment, as if to carefully choose his target. 

Tony closed his eyes, setting his mouth into a tired line. 

Like a good imbecile, DUM-E sprayed the floor liberally with a hyperactive cooling reactant “foam” Tony had made back in MIT. Tony silently let out a breathe. 

(What happened was, back at MIT— after he’d accidentally burned down Bexley Hall— his advisors had expressed some concerns about his work and used some weird word that sounded a lot like “safety.” Tony wasn’t familiar with it.)

“Are you exercising the correct safety protocols, Sir?”

“What are you implying? Look how safe I’m being. I’m even wearing gloves.” Tony waved his hands at the nearest monitor. 

DUM-E swiveled his claw questioningly.

“What?” Tony snapped at him. “Are you expecting praise because you didn’t spray me in the eyes with corrosive chemicals? Grow up.” And with that, Tony swept by him, heading for the black box that had spontaneously materialized on his left anterior desk. 

There was the guts of a busted-up left calf from a Mark IV taking up the majority of this desk, so Tony reached out his arm and swept it all onto the floor, carefully avoiding the box. It was a plain black rectangular prism, oddly unreflective. U hesitantly rolled over with a broom. Tony paid him no mind. 

“JARVIS, theorize. What type of energy is this and why is next to nothing of it thermal?  Tony brought his face very close to the box, almost hunching over it, examining it from all sides. “Or gamma, x-ray, or UV radiation, now that I think about it.” 

“The closest energy match I have recorded is from Asgardian ‘magical’ artifacts, Sir. However, that data I have labeled as inaccurate. The match is inexact.” 

“Why is it an error?”

“By the nature of observing the properties of these artifacts, the observed properties change, making it impossible to get a consistent reading. I have over twelve data sets, and none follow a consistent pattern.” 

Tony hummed. “So the pattern you’re following is that it has no pattern.”

“There’s also the matter of its materialization. It could be that it was previously beyond my sensors capabilities until seven minutes ago.”

“Either that or it got teleported right into my workshop. Give me a working blueprint of the inside.” 

A blue holographic copy of the strange black box appeared. Tony chopped it down the middle. It looked like the black box, rectangular in shape, was just a composite of six cubes. Tony separated them out. 

“Give me predicted colors.” 

Images appeared on the cubes in hazy but distinct forms. That was his faceplate. That was Cap’s shield. Hulk’s hand. A bow. A spider. One was curiously blank. 

“It appears to be a gift for the Avengers,” JARVIS said. 

“Yeah, no kidding. Looks like the eugenics poster boy’s got the coal this year.” 

“I’m surprised you didn’t, Sir.”

“That’s it, J. I’m cancelling your birthday party.”

“Of course, Sir.”

U had finally finished sweeping up all the broken bits of metal and assorted wires into a pile in the corner of the room and went over to poke at the molten piece of gold now welded onto the floor. 

Tony went over to the desk to his right and wheeled over a stool. “So,” he said, sitting down, “We have a dilemma.” He slid out a drawer and poked through assorted wrenches, screwdrivers, hammers, and pliers, before finally settling on a clamp. “This could be from Mr. Thunder Thighs, in which case it probably won’t explode,  _ or— _ ”

“Perhaps we should alert the rest of the occupants of the Tower.”

“You worry so much, J.  _ Or, _ as I was saying, it could be from the other L’Oreal brother, or any other magical alien fetishest who likes to storm across the universe with declarations of world domination. Either way,” Tony settled the clamp around the black rectangular box, “Let’s poke it.” 

Once the clamp settled around the box, it seemed to destabilize into the six distinct boxes that JARVIS had told him it was made of.  The actual pictures were much clearer. Also sparkly. By chance, the clamp had closed on the box with the Hulk’s large green fist. The material of these boxes must have been extremely fragile, because the next thing Tony remembered was the clamp smashing the box into a flat square, and then nothing. 


	2. The Tower is Going to Explode

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JARVIS has certain protocols, like warning the Tower's occupants when there's a chance they might all suffer a fiery death.

 

Clint was channel surfing in the living room. At this point, after going through every one of Stark’s thousand channels twice, Clint was stuck between a re-run of the Mexican soap opera, _Señora Sombría_ , and an infomercial about duct tape.

“Clint, you’re depressed,” Nat said.

“No, Nat, I’m living. I’m experiencing. I’m thriving.” The infomercial involved a man slapping tape on a hole in a giant tank of water.

Nat slithered onto the couch next to him, snatching the remote from his limp hand. She put on _The_ _West Wing_. Clint was fine with this.

JARVIS paused the show without warning. “I am obligated to inform you,” the AI began, and that was never good, “that an explosion may occur presently.”

A moment later, JARVIS restarted the show as if he hadn’t made any announcement at all.

Natasha wasn’t having any of it. She hit pause. “ _Stark,_ ” she hissed. This was Stark’s fault, somehow. “JARVIS. Do we need to evacuate?”

JARVIS said nothing. Sometimes he did that. He was surly around them, whenever Stark wasn’t around and things weren’t about Stark. Honestly, Clint could never get a read on him.

“ _JARVIS,”_ Natasha repeated.

Silence.

 

* * *

 

Despite the pumping of blood in his ears, the soft tunes of Pete Seeger, and the thumping of his knuckles hitting the punching bag, Steve heard JARVIS’s artificial voice anyway.

“I am obligated to inform you, Captain Rogers, that an explosion may occur presently.”

Steve grabbed hold of the swinging bag with his bandaged hands, panting into the recycled gym air. “What?!”

“An explosion may occur—”

“No, I heard you, I just— what?! What’s going on? Do we need to assemble?”

“That information is uncertain,” JARVIS responded calmly.

“What do you mean? How can it be uncertain, it’s an _explosion—_ How you know there’s going to be an explosion without knowing anything else? _”_

“I am obligated to inform you of its existence, and not its origins. Please resume your workout routine, Captain.”

“JARVIS, wait!” Steve called at the general direction of the ceiling. The lower floor gym had a very high ceiling; it was a bit like looking at the sky. “Explain yourself! Is this about Stark?”

The distant white tiled ceiling had no answers.

Patiently, Steve waited about a minute before running towards the elevator and the living room, where he knew he would find more of his team.

* * *

 

Bruce was sleeping upright at his fancy few desk in his fancy new lab with glass boards and so many dry erase markers. His head was bobbing forward just a little, but otherwise he could have been mistaken for a regular person sitting at a desk.

Bruce’s lab took up what must be this entire floor, because it was actually five different labs altogether— optics, chemistry, biochemistry, dark room optics, and general office. He spent most of his time doing data analysis in the general office. Too _much_ time, really.

Tony spoiled him. He didn’t deserve this floor. He tried not to tell Tony that too often, though. Tony didn’t like it when people rejected his gifts. That probably said a lot about Tony. Maybe something about Bruce, too.

“Dr. Banner,” JARVIS said.

Bruce jolted awake.

“Please prepare yourself for some large or minor explosion,” JARVIS asked.

“Why,” Bruce said, taking off his glasses and rubbing at his eyes. “What went wrong?”

“Nothing has gone wrong at this instance. However, in the interests of safety, I recommend—”

“Yes, of course. I understand.” Bruce’s mind was racing through all the possibilities— an attack, a malfunction, _someone’s dead_ — but knowing more would make everything worse, in the long run.

He needed to keep calm.  

“JARVIS,” he said, leaning his elbows down on his desk and closing his eyes. He settled his glasses on top of his keyboard. “Can you countdown to the explosion, please?”

“If such a thing were to occur.”

When JARVIS said nothing else, Bruce beat down a spike of anxiety. It seemed like an unnaturally long pause, for the the robot. But he had to keep in mind that he trusted Tony as much as he could trust anyone. It was going to be okay.

 


	3. Rude Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony is going to miss his exam.

Tony never remembered going to sleep, so it stood to reason that he shouldn’t be waking up now. He had a midterm in Hydraulics tomorrow. Or today. Time was weird like that. What time was it?

“Ugh,” he said. “Fuck me sideways, Rhodester. Please.”

Tony rolled over onto his side. His entire back hurt like he’d just pancaked onto a skillet.

“With a rusty chainsaw,” he mumbled into the cold, cold tiled floor. He must have fallen asleep in their bathroom.

Something poked him in-between his ribs. He heard the unmistakable sound of an electronic joint. Couldn’t make it soundless, he thought. He bet it had something to do with those damn hydraulics that he was supposed to be knowledgeable about now. He curled into a ball, protecting his stomach.

“Sir?” Now he heard a strange voice. It wasn’t his roommate, that was for sure. It was English or something. Posh.

It better not be another fucking bodyguard.

Tony opened his eyes and immediately found himself surrounded by some weird glass desks, like some kind of futuristic classroom. He blinked a few times, and then got a bad feeling. He always got those. He bet he could start up his own Stark Industries just by selling deadly premonitions. Dad would love it as much as he loved anything—  which is to say, not at all.

Immediately, something was wrong with his clothes. He was wearing a dirty black tank top that was at least one size too big and pooled around his skinny chest like an apron, as well as some equally big grey sweatpants and boxers. It felt like he was wearing a blanket.

He cinched his giant pants around his waist and crawled to his feet to get a good look around. The room’s lighting was so consistent and white, the space so open and comfortable and _large_ — he felt like he was in an inventor’s paradise. There were about five rows of desks just nearby, arranged in a circle and radiating out, and none of them were empty. Some were covered in bits and bobs of wire and scrap, and some were covered in measuring instruments, fancy drills, and things so weird looking that Tony had no idea what they could possibly be used for if not modern art, and some were covered in… screens of some sort? The entire far wall was some kind of ultra-cool armor gallery, and there were actual rolling arm-machines a foot away from him. Blue light seemed to suffuse the place with equations and data readouts. There were no people around, and all he heard was a steady dripping sound from what looked like a full kitchen at the far side of the room and the sound of ventilated air.

There were some stairs leading upward blocked off by glass walls, and that was when Tony Stark realized he was locked inside a workshop. A brilliant workshop, definitely. However.

It made a nice cage.

One of the rolling arm-machines started to move, and Tony bolted. He headed straight for the glass door to the stairs. If they were smart, this wouldn’t be just any kind of glass. And the fact that Tony had been kidnapped without _any indication at all_ tended to suggest that they might be smart.

There wasn’t a handle. He tried pushing— to no avail.

“Sir, please stay calm,” said the English voice.

Tony jumped. “What do you want from me?!” he said, backing away from the door, desperately looking for security cameras. There was nothing that he could identify, but he knew they were there.

“There has been an accident, Mr. Stark,” the voice continued, “For the safety of everyone, please remain inside the workshop.”

“ _Someone’s_ got a major god-complex, Crumpets. What, got tired of butlering some spoiled rich kids? Decided to take it out on the billionaire? Well, newsflash, bucko, the Mr. Stark you’re looking for is still at large. All you managed to snatch is the defective copy.”

“Sir, I am not referring to Howard Stark, your father.”

“Right, cut out the pleasantries, will you? You’re my kidnapper, I’m the kidnappee— I think I know how these things go at this point. You gotta know Stark Industries has a strict no-paying ransom policy.”

“Previously, yes, I am aware of the policies put forth by the CEO.”

“But you think you’re gonna force his hand, don’t you? I know my dad better than anyone, Crumpets, and I can assure you that he will _never_ fucking give in. _Never._ ”

“You have not been kidnapped, young sir.”

“Wow, that’s reassuring. Thanks a _bunch_ , Limey.”

“If you will allow me to explain.”

“Hold on, better let me sit down first. There’s only so much bullshit I can take standing up.” True to his word, Tony sat down on the ground, leaning his back against the glass door, and pulled his knees up to his chest. He felt very small in that very large room, in his weird, ill-fitting clothes.

“Young sir,” the disembodied voice began softly, probably to appear nice. “You have been transported twenty-three years into the future.”

“I’m glad I sat down.” _Yeah,_ right.  

“The easiest proof is the level of advanced technology sitting in this very room. My name is J.A.R.V.I.S., and I am an artificial intelligence that you created nine years ago. In this room are twelve different computers operating at one thousand times the capacity of what you are familiar with, as well as three other, distinct artificial intelligences that Sir created before me, which are housed in the rovers you see before you.”

As if on cue, one of the robots bobbed its arm up and down in a wave.

“This is a really elaborate kidnapping,” Tony whispered. One of those arms looked like they could break some bones. “You even have props.”

“Young sir, I have no reason to lie.”

“So you say, lying.”

“That is not true.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it is not,” the Brit said, endlessly patient.

Tony wondered if he could piss this Brit off enough to get his death machine to charge at Tony, which would then break the “glass” partition, if the robots were truly as heavy as they looked and as fast as they looked. If they were any faster, Tony probably couldn’t dodge away fast enough. If they were any slower, then they wouldn’t break the partition.

“Yes, it is,” Tony said. They probably wanted him alive. He would take the risk.

“It is useless to continue this game of contradiction.”

“On the contrary, I think this is a wonderful use of my time.”

The Brit didn’t even acknowledge his comment. “If proof of technological advancement is not enough to convince you of your own predicament, I will summon Colonel Rhodes to explain your situation.”

Tony scoffed. “Who the hell is the Colonel?”

“According to my records, at your approximate biological age, Colonel Rhodes is your roommate at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology.”

“ _Colonel?!_ Psh, looks like _you’ve_ done your research. My 18 year old roommate’s _definitely_ a colonel. The colonel of never waking the fuck up.”

“Young sir, you have access to any amenities located within the workshop while we await Colonel Rhodes’s appearance.”

Tony rubbed at his forehead, glaring at the tiled ground. “No demands, huh?” he whispered.

“No, young sir,” the Brit replied anyway.

“Shut up.”

“Of course, sir.”

“I hate you. Get me better clothes.”

“I have already ordered them.”

Tony huffed. “What happened to my old pjs anyway?”

“As I have already partially explained, when your older body was replaced by this younger version, anything not directly tied to your body was left unscathed.”

Tony slowly closed his eyes. More nonsense. “I should’ve known better than to expect a serious answer. This better not be some weird fucking pedo kink, or SI will literally eviscerate you on live television.”

“Quite a difficult feat, considering I am an artificial intelligence.”

Tony suddenly screamed, falling onto his back and throwing out his arms. “HELP ME! SOMEONE HELP ME!”

“Young sir, why are you—”

“HEEEEELP! ANYONE! SOMEONE!”

“This room is soundproofed—”

“AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

Tony laid panting on the ground. He heard a faint whirring, and the steady dripping of that same damn sink. When his kidnapper actually appeared, maybe he’d try talking again. But for now, this wasn’t working.


	4. Team Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce has a headache.

It had been five minutes of tense waiting before Bruce finally heard JARVIS speak, and it wasn’t to begin a countdown. 

“If the Avengers would please meet in the 45th Floor Living Area for a debriefing,” the AI said. 

Bruce put on his glasses. His anxiety hadn’t settled in the least— this wasn’t a random explosion, this was now a  _ situation.  _ This involved solving and damage control. 

When Bruce entered the elevator, he didn’t have to press the 45th button. JARVIS knew where he was going. 

The elevator opened upon a raised dais which led to a wide kitchen space denoted by half-walls and sleek mottled-black countertops. The fridge was close to industrial-sized, and the stove had 12 burners. The lounging area was in the pit of the room, sleek burgundy modern couches around a truly monstrous-sized screen. 

Barton and Romanov had taken hold of one of these couches, sitting alertly next to each other. Captain Rogers was pacing in front of the TV, where Martin Sheen was speaking soundlessly in some dramatic moment or other.

Bruce stepped down the three long steps into the pit, aiming for a single armchair. 

“Are you responsible for this?” Natasha immediately asked as he was sitting down. 

“No, are you?”

“No.”

“Neither am I, in case anyone was wondering,” Barton said. 

Nobody said anything to that, so Bruce guessed that nobody was. 

“Stark is the only one left,” Rogers broke in, sweat-stained and brow furrowed. 

“I was worried that this would happen,” Bruce said to himself, like a curse.

“He will not be showing,” JARVIS spoke at long last, and Bruce felt his entire body become electrified. 

_ The West Wing  _ cut out and instead it was replaced by four different camera views of Tony’s main workshop. “At approximately 1808 hours this evening,” JARVIS continued, “A mysterious package appeared in Sir’s workshop that we believe to be Asgardian or Extraterrestrial in origin. Upon investigation, Sir was negatively affected by said package, resulting in—”

As JARVIS spoke, the camera zoomed in on a figure lying in a starfish position on the ground. He was a skinny middle schooler with a shock of 80s black hair in clothes that did not even remotely fit him. 

“—the appearance of an approximately 14 year old version of Sir—”

_ “What!?”  _ Rogers yelled.

“Stark, you  _ idiot! _ ” Natasha hissed. 

“ —to replace Sir. Upon questioning, he appears to hold only the memories and personality that he would at age fourteen. However, since I was not in existence at this time of Sir’s life, this could be a fabrication. I have not been able to locate the actual Sir.”

Rogers ran a hand through his hair and set his mouth. “This mysterious package, what was it and what did Stark do to it?” 

JARVIS brought up a blue hologram of six silly looking boxes. “This is a reproduction of the package that materialized. Sir made the mistake of touching the box presumably meant for Dr. Banner. At the point of contact, which is not necessitated by skin contact, the energy within exploded outward, distorting reality enough that my sensors could not analyze the data I have collected.” 

“May I see this data?” Bruce asked, distracted. 

“Of course.” 

The readout appeared in front of him in blue light, streams of wildly varying energies over an extraordinarily short amount of time. Temperature, light intensity, activity— barely any change at all. 

“Why didn’t Thor get one?” Natasha asked, mostly to herself. 

“That is unknown,” JARVIS said. 

“We have to quarantine the boxes,” Rogers said, already moving onto damage control. “And we have to get Stark out of that workshop immediately. Right now he’s calm, but he doesn’t know the situation. Hell, nobody knows the situation.” 

“Young sir is currently under the impression that he has been kidnapped and is being held for ransom. He does not seem receptive to any of my explanations of what has occured.” 

“Wow, he didn’t listen to the disembodied robotic voice? Who would’ve thought,” Barton said. 

“I’ll go down and get Stark,” Rogers said, already making his way over to the elevator. “Everyone else needs to stay away from that lab. As soon as I get him out, can you lock it down, JARVIS?”

“I have reasons to suspect that the quarantine you suggest will not be successful, Captain.”

Rogers stopped in his tracks. 

Bruce massaged his temple. Judging from the data he was glancing through, he thought he knew why. “Those things obviously don’t adhere to the laws of physics. Maybe, and this is a big maybe, Tony and I could develop some kind of containment field, but to do that, we’d have to study them— touch them, even— and that’s exactly what we’re trying to avoid.”

“Is Stark contagious?” Natasha asked. 

The thought had also occurred to Bruce. What if Tony was forced to undergo a horror film version of Benjamin Button-ing, where he kept getting younger and younger until he no longer existed? What if everyone he came into contact with got the same disease?

“You’re not expecting me to just leave him there?” Rogers yelled, “In the same room as those other time bombs?”

“I’m not suggesting anything,” Natasha said calmly. “We just need to be very careful.”

“The young sir’s vital signs are stable,” JARVIS added helpfully. “No other side effects have made themselves apparent, although it has only been approximately 34 minutes since he has entered this state.”

Rogers started walking towards the elevator again.  

“Steve,” Natasha said. 

“He’s a kid, now, isn’t he?” Rogers said. “We can’t lock him up.” 

“Nat,” Barton chimed in, lounging back. “We can always lock him in his penthouse.” 

“Good idea,” Natasha said. 

Rogers rolled his eyes, letting out a huff. “I’ll be back. Maybe as a fourteen year old. God, I hope not.”

The elevator closed around him. Bruce tried to quell the thought of the millions of things that could go wrong at any moment, but he didn’t succeed, and his head hurt.  


	5. Knifey the Workshop Assistant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood Music [Teenagers by MCR](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jLKOBJR5vHs)

 

Steve walked down the stairs and saw the glass entrance to Stark’s workshop. Stark was nowhere to be seen. He walked up to the door and glanced vaguely up at the ceiling. “Open them up, JARVIS.”

Steve could’ve sworn he heard a degree of trepidation in JARVIS’ synthesized voice. “If you say so, Captain.”

A hydraulic click later, and the door slid open.

A 7-foot tall 400-pound steel robotic arm barreled at him as fast as it could roll. Steve had a split second to turn and dash back up the stairs, two at a time. The robotic arm crashed through the doorway and slammed into the bottom stair, nearly falling over and catching itself on the wall with its arm. Steve gaped at it from ten steps above. There was a kitchen knife duct taped to its claw. The robot spun it dangerously at him.

“Tony?!” Steve called nervously.

Stark poked his head around so that Steve could see him through the glass. “Shit, my timing was off.”

Steve raised his hands in a show of peace. “I’m here to help you, Tony. Call off your robot.”

“If he gets any closer, kill him, Knifey,” Stark said.

The robot spun his claw again.

“You called him Knifey!?” Steve yelled.  

“Crumpets told me I named him Dummy and that just seems fake.”

Steve held back a smile. “His name really _is_ DUM-E.”

“But he has a knife now,” Stark said, as if Steve was a simpleton. “I think he likes it a lot.”

The knife whirred at him.

“But you won’t!” Tony finished lamely. “Ugh, that was bad. That’s a line straight out of a bad supervillain. What has the world come to?”

Steve would’ve bet half his salary that the adult Stark would have said the exact same line. Stark hadn’t changed much from being a teenager. That explained at lot about him, Steve thought. “I promise I won’t hurt you. Can you call off your robot, please?”

“Oh, you’ll promise?” Stark said sweetly. “That’s cute. You even said please.”

“If you won’t call it off, will you at least come with me? The workshop you’re in right now is dangerous.”

“What, and you’ll take me to a secondary location?” Stark nearly growled at him. “You know how many people survive being taken to a _secondary location_?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Steve said helplessly.

“That’s _exactly_ what a kidnapper would say.”

Steve had known that this would be difficult. Stark always made things difficult. But he hadn’t quite expected it to be _this_ difficult. “Listen, do you want to stay locked in there? Because we can keep you locked in there.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Stark hissed.

“You know what?” Steve said. “We’ll just leave the door open. You can come out if you want. Please come out.” Steve considered telling Stark not to touch the mysterious boxes on one of his desks, but he felt like as soon as he told Stark not to do something, he would immediately go do it. “I’ll just sit down here.” He lowered himself down on his step.

Stark glared at him. It had never really worked on Steve before, and it definitely didn’t work on him now. Stark was very small, and his big dark eyes and pout made him look like an angry puppy. Steve tried to remind himself that Stark was no ordinary kid.

“Are you going to make any demands?” Stark finally asked.  

“You haven’t been kidnapped,” Steve said tiredly.

“You’re still sticking with that story? I gotta hand it to you. You’re very consistent.”

“We’re consistent because it’s true.”

Stark turned away from him and scanned the workshop. Slowly, he inched towards the open door. DUM-E flew into a haphazard reverse and barreled back through the doorway, towering over Stark and raising and lowering his arm. Stark gave him a little pat.

“Maybe you should take off that knife before it hurts someone,” Steve offered.

Stark gave him an aghast look. “He _likes_ the knife, Captain America.”

Steve widened his eyes. “What’d you just call me?”

“You’re a walking blonde hunk of a man— what else was I supposed to call you?”

Steve paused, surprised. Finally, he smiled, nodding once to himself. “You know what? That’s fair. Do you like Captain America?”

“Who gives a shit about him. He’s dead,” Stark said.

“That’s a very rude thing to say about a dead man,” Steve said.

“Is that why you’ve kidnapped me?” Stark asked, standing at the bottom of the stairs and looking up at him. “You want to know about my father’s dumbass Captain America search?”

“ _You_ were the one who brought up Captain America.”

“ _You_ were the one who leaped on it like Wile E. Coyote!”

“Well _you_ were—” Steve realized that Stark had reeled him into an embarrassingly childish argument. From Stark’s smug expression, he knew it, too.  “—it doesn’t matter,” he finished half-heartedly.  “You’re here by accident, and that’s all. We’re going to try and take care of you the best we can until we can return you to your own time.”

“Time travel is bullshit,” Stark scoffed, resting his bare foot on the first step and holding up his oversized pants. “Everyone knows that. Time isn’t even linear. Do you even know basic physics?”

Steve wondered how such a large ego could fit in such a small body. “I do know basic physics, Tony. My name is Steve, by the way. I live here in the Tower with you.”

“ _Steve_ ,” Stark snorted. “You look like more of a Chris. I like that. That’s your new name.”

Steve couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. “You can’t do that?” he said, finding himself phrasing it like a question.

Stark snapped his fingers. “Crumpets, tell him.”

JARVIS dutifully projected his voice over the speaker, “Congratulations on your new name, Captain.”

Steve raised his arms and gave a ceiling a betrayed look.

“Ah-hah!” Stark said, pointing at him. “So _you’re_ the leader!”

“I’m not the leader—” Steve hesitated, “I mean, I am _kind of_ the leader— but that’s not the point! You haven’t been kidnapped!”

“Then I’m free to leave?” Stark taunted. “I can just walk out of here?”

Steve wanted to say yes. But he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t let a teenaged version of Tony Stark wander around New York like a lost little kid. “I’d have to go with you, but yes, you can walk out of here.”

“Chris, you’ve got to be kidding me, here.”

Steve massaged his forehead. “My name isn’t Chris.”

JARVIS spoke up again and Steve was never happier to hear his voice. “Young sir, if you would walk with Captain Rogers, your clothes have arrived.”

“Finally,” Stark grumbled, marching up the stairs. Steve pushed himself to his feet. _Finally,_ Steve mentally agreed.

“Your last name is Rogers. That’s funny,” Stark said as he stood even with him on the stair landing. He barely came up to Steve’s pecks. “Chris Rogers.”

“It’s Steve Rogers, actually.”

“Oh,” Stark said, “I didn’t know we were using our fake names. I’m Oracle Sharkslayer.”

_“Oracle Sharkslayer?”_ Steve spluttered.

“That’s the name I used when I hacked the Pentagon for the first time,” Stark said.

Steve shook his head. That couldn’t be true. It couldn’t. There was no way.

But it _was_ Tony Stark.

“Where’s Tony’s clothes, JARVIS?” Steve said.

“A delivery man has them in the lobby.”

Steve led the way up the stairs and over to the elevator. He watched Stark carefully take in his surroundings. Steve wondered what conclusions he drew.

A Stark Industries delivery runner was in the lobby, holding two full bags of clothing. Steve took them from him while the runner openly gaped at him.

“Um, Captain,” the runner said.

“You’re an SI employee,” Stark said from where he was almost hiding behind Steve.

The runner looked over at Stark and became even more confused.

“Showing my nephew around,” Steve said, a quick throw-away line, and then he herded Stark back over to the elevator. Steve half-expected him to make a break for it, but he didn’t. Maybe he finally realized that he hadn’t been kidnapped.

_“Nephew?_ ” Stark exclaimed in the elevator, tugging one of the clothing bags out of Steve’s hand.

“I _could_ have called you my son,” Steve said.

“Oh God, no,” Stark said, looking through the bag. “I can’t believe I’m thanking you for not irrevocably associating us together like that. The day I call you Daddy is the day I die, Chris.”

_“Tony!”_ Steve yelled, throwing up a hand to rub his forehead. “ _Please_ don’t go there!”

Stark had the audacity to smirk at him.

The elevator clicked open to the 45th Floor. Stark burst out of the elevator before Steve did, even though Steve knew for a fact that he had no idea where he was going.

“There’s a bathroom over there if you want to get changed,” Steve called, pointing.

Stark sullenly walked back over to Steve and took the other clothing bag before awkwardly shuffling over to the bathroom. Steve sighed and walked over to the living room, where Clint had perched himself on the back of a couch and Natasha stood by a nearby window. Bruce was gone. He’d probably gone back to his lab.

“I’m not a kid,” Steve announced.

“What a shame,” Clint said.

“Did you _want_ this thing to be contagious?” Steve found himself asking, walking forward and crossing his arms.

“Well, no,” Clint amended. “But it’d sure be hilarious. Where’s the little brat?”

“He’s getting changed.”

“Are you sure you should be leaving him alone?” Natasha said, not looking at him.

At that moment, JARVIS spoke up, “I believe the young sir is attempting to jump out the window.”

Steve sighed again, turned around, and threw himself into a jog.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's a john mulaney reference here but obvs tony has never seen that bit before so instead imagine that young Tony had an assembly with JJ Bittenbinder not too long ago and now hes terrified of secondary locations

**Author's Note:**

> Do you ever read a piece of writing and realize that it's unfinished, forcing you to turn the author and ask-- entreat, really-- the age old question: "WHERE IS THE REST? I WANT!" 
> 
> But then you realize that the author is you, and you're a dummy. 
> 
> Anyway, I wrote a good portion of this story a couple months ago, but things got in the way and, guess what? Never wrote out the ending bits. Now I'm going to force myself to write the ending bits. 
> 
> Leave a comment if you enjoyed what I've got so far! Tony is a difficult person to write but I enjoy him so much. 
> 
> I've got a tumblr where you can bug me at [satirewrites](https://satirewrites.tumblr.com/)  
> 


End file.
